Stray (22 page)

“It was my father's.” The monarch princess looked miserable.

“It's beautiful,” said Aislynn, and then, after a moment, added, “You don't talk about your parents much.”

“I don't really need to, do I? Everyone has their own story, their own version of what happened.” Linnea shrugged the smallest of shrugs. “I don't even remember him, you know. My father. My earliest memory is of Westerly. He brought me a stuffed horse when I was little, even named it for me. He would get so mad when I couldn't say ‘Penelope' correctly.” Linnea smiled when she saw the expression on Aislynn's face. “He's not as bad as you think.”

“He seems . . . rational,” Aislynn said cautiously, and Linnea laughed.

“Yes. He certainly is that. But he's always been a part of my life. Westerly may not be overflowing with romance or poetry, but he knows me better than anyone else. And he loves me.” Linnea's jaw was set. “Despite everything that has happened, despite what my family is, I know that he loves me.”

“And you love him,” Aislynn offered, but Linnea had turned to the window again.

“Adviser Lennard is right,” she said. “This would make a lovely gift.” But by the way her fingers curved around the box, it was clear that she was not ready to let it go.

“Perhaps we can find something else to give Westerly,” Aislynn suggested. “Maybe another ring, with a horse on it, like the pony he gave you.”

“No, I don't think so.” Linnea put the box back in the drawer and locked it. “I think it's best to do what Adviser Lennard recommends.”

“Or commands,” said Aislynn under her breath.

Linnea spun around. “What did you say?” she snapped. Her gaze was icy and sharp.

Aislynn was taken aback. “I . . . I only meant to say—”

“You only meant to say that I should disregard the advice of my most trusted adviser? Tell me, fairy godmother, tell me what I should do about a gift for my future husband? You must be rich in knowledge about such things.” Her eyes flashed, her words burning like a brand. “Please go now. I think I'd like to be alone.”

Aislynn headed to the gardens, her hands linked together to keep herself from tearing at her uniform, which seemed to be growing tighter and tighter. She was filled with guilt and fury.

Linnea had everything she wanted. She was engaged. She was sixteen years old, soon to be a monarch queen, and she was going to be married, going to have a name on her ever-after locket. It was all that a girl could hope for.

The unfairness of it all clutched at Aislynn's throat.

She hated Westerly for proposing to Linnea. She hated Adviser Lennard for his unrelenting control of his ward. She hated Linnea for being so selfish. And mostly she hated herself.

Tears welled up in her eyes. In that moment, she wanted to be Linnea so badly it hurt. Wanted to be a princess again. Wanted her parents and Tahlia. Wanted to be safe and loved. Cared for.

“Aislynn?”

She spun around to find Thackery behind her, his arms full of flowers. At the sight of her face, he dropped them and rushed toward her, scattering rose petals with every step. “Are you all right?” he asked, his hands finding her waist.

She fully intended to run away. But the concern on his face was enough to make the tears come in earnest. Throwing herself into his arms, Aislynn buried her face in his neck and sobbed. He smelled like earth and rosemary and bread. He stroked her head, and Aislynn suddenly hated her uniform, hated the distance it kept between them. She wanted his fingers tangled in her hair, his palm against her neck, his lips . . . she wanted . . .

She stepped back and wiped her eyes with her sleeve. Something was wrong with her. She had known it since the day Thackery had touched her arm, her scar. Her loving heart had returned. She was sure of it.

Somehow it had found its way to her again and beat inside her so fiercely that she feared it would burst from her chest. She ached with a desire to touch Thackery. It was a dangerous feeling. She knew that she should leave the garden immediately and lock away all of the wicked, treacherous thoughts that brewed inside her. But Aislynn did not move.

When Linnea married, and she would marry soon, she would leave the academy. And when she left, she'd take with her all her belongings, her dresses, her jewelry, her perfumes, and her fairy godmother. For Aislynn belonged to Linnea, forever, like a necklace or a hair ribbon. And once they left, she would never see Thackery again. Her heart felt as if it was shattering into a million jagged pieces.

“Bad day?” Thackery asked. His hands were still around her waist.

Aislynn nodded, took a deep breath, and tried to smile. “I'll be fine,” she said. “But your flowers . . .”

Thackery glanced at the ruined roses and shrugged. His hands lifted away from her. “I'll just pick some more.” Aislynn nodded, and an uncomfortable silence settled around them.

“I should tell you,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “That is . . . we're leaving. Brigid, Ford, and me. We're leaving Elderwood.”

“What?” Her heart seemed to break anew.

“We don't usually stay in one place this long. We would have left a while ago, but . . .” He shook his head. “We have to move on. It's harder to get caught if you don't stay in one place.”

“Do you think Josetta is still searching for you?” asked Aislynn, horrified.

“She'll always be looking for us.”

“Where will you go?”

“Another academy.” Thackery ran a hand through his hair. “Someplace that will feed and clothe us in exchange for work. Someplace where we can help others.”

“Won't Madame Moira get suspicious if you all disappear?” A chill ran through Aislynn. “She could report you.”

Thackery snorted. “She can't even remember our names. Leaving will be an inconvenience for her, nothing more. We'll be quickly replaced. Besides, I'll be leaving first, to scout ahead. Brigid and Ford will follow once I've secured new positions for us. It will make it less suspicious if we all depart separately.”

“When are you leaving?” Aislynn held her breath.

“Soon,” he said. “I'll be gone before the autumn ball.”

“But that's in a few weeks!” Aislynn's voice cracked, and Thackery curled his hands into fists.

“I was thinking . . . that maybe . . .” He was so quiet and hesitant that she had to lean forward to hear him. “That maybe you could come with us.”

Go with them? A life without a princess to serve, without teachers to impress, without advisers to obey? No more lessons, no more uniforms.

For a glorious moment, Aislynn wanted to say yes.

She wanted to go with Thackery.

And that's what stopped her. The realization that she was so willing to abandon the Path for him made her realize the true danger she was in. How close she was from becoming what everyone had always believed she was—a stray.

“I can't.”

“I know.” He didn't seem surprised, just sad.

The wind was picking at the rose petals on the ground and tossing them around like a kitten playing with string. Autumn was coming soon.

Suddenly Thackery took her hand. “Your fingers are warm,” he murmured, pressing her hand to his chest. “Can you feel that?” And she could. She could feel his heart beating beneath her palm.

Aislynn raised her eyes to his. They were so very green. She saw herself in them, and it was like staring into the mirror she had always wished for, where the reflection was winsome and fine.

Then he kissed her, and it was better than dancing, better than summer, better than bread. All of her seemed to be turned inside out in one glorious swoop. But before she could kiss him back, his arms fell away.

“I'm sorry,” he said, hanging his head. “I never should have . . .”

Before Aislynn could swallow the poisoned apple that was lodged in her throat, Thackery turned and walked out of the garden, never once looking back.

T
hackery was gone by morning. Aislynn tried to convince herself that it was better that way. For if he hadn't gone, if he had stayed just one more day, it was possible that she would have abandoned sense and reason, and gone with him.

Now she would never see him again, and Brigid and Ford would be following soon after. And the thought of their absence in addition to Thackery's was a new type of pain, not sharp and cutting, but dull and unending. It was a pain that turned the whole world gray.

Brigid promised that she'd stay at least until the wedding, which had been set for immediately after the autumn ball at Nyssa Academy and was approaching far too rapidly for Aislynn's taste. As Thackery predicted, the headmistress found a new gardener, and he was a small, sour-faced man whose bouquets were scrawny and lackluster.

Each new day was as miserable as the last. But even Aislynn's mind-numbing unhappiness didn't stop her from noticing Linnea's new habit of disappearing for hours on end. On one particularly humid afternoon, Aislynn was told that Westerly was planning to visit that evening. The monarch princess had been missing since breakfast, and because it took several hours to dress for such an occasion, Aislynn was now desperate to find her. The dining hall was empty, her teachers unhelpful, and the other fairy godmothers uncaring. Aislynn left the castle and was heading to the gardens when she caught sight of Brigid.

“Are you looking for the monarch princess?” Brigid asked, pointing to the rose garden. Calling her thanks over her shoulder, Aislynn hurried on, realizing belatedly that Brigid had seemed upset. But there was no time to address it, as Aislynn soon came across the monarch princess sitting on a bench in the garden, reading a letter.

“Your Majesty?”

Linnea started and dropped the parchment. It fluttered to the ground, and Aislynn rushed to pick it up, but the monarch princess snatched it away and quickly folded it into her small bag. Her cheeks were flushed, and she gripped the clasp fiercely.

“What do you want?” Linnea asked, her tone sharp.

“I've been looking for you all afternoon,” said Aislynn gently, trying to contain her frustration. “Prince Westerly is coming tonight.”

“He is? Oh that's lovely.” Rising from the bench, Linnea gave her fairy godmother an apologetic smile. It was the first sign of kindness the monarch princess had offered Aislynn since their argument. “It's the wedding,” Linnea said. “So many decisions to make: the food, the flowers, the guest list. Sometimes I just want to get away from it all.” She smoothed out her skirt. “I'm so glad Westerly is coming. He's always so certain when it comes to these things.”

Aislynn followed the monarch princess out of the garden, neither girl saying another word.

The shiny red apple rolled unevenly across the table into Aislynn's hand. With a gentle push, she sent it back toward her other palm. Back and forth, back and forth the apple wobbled as Aislynn waited for the bell to tell them that dinner was over and she could head to the dining hall to collect the monarch princess.

Across the table, the other fairy godmothers were gossiping, as they always did. Aislynn was barely listening when she heard Cecily lazily mention a Lady Maris. Aislynn stilled.

“Her parents never believed she strayed,” Cecily was saying.

So, it was Maris they had been gossiping about at the most recent ball—had they heard something new? Aislynn strained to hear.

“They thought something terrible had happened to her, didn't they?” said Thea.

“And they were right?” asked Juliana.

“Well, not completely,” Cecily corrected. “She strayed, but then something terrible happened to her. I heard her parents found a yellow shoe on their doorstep. Apparently it had a rose embroidered on the toe.”

Aislynn remembered that shoe and how proud Maris had been of it. A dreadful feeling started to churn in her stomach.

Cecily continued. “Inside the shoe was a bramble, the very kind that is known to grow around Queen Josetta's palace. But that wasn't the only thing—” Cecily paused dramatically. “Inside the shoe was a severed toe.”

The other girls gasped. Aislynn felt the small room grow hot, and the walls seemed to close in on her. She stood up quickly and rushed out through the kitchen, ignoring the stares of the servants. She slammed the back door and leaned against it, welcoming the cool evening breeze.

Josetta. That horrible, wicked woman. That monster. After what the Wicked Queen had done to Brigid, Ford, and Thackery, Aislynn supposed it was foolish to be surprised that she was so cruel.

What had Maris done to deserve such violence? Was this how Josetta repaid the service of her followers? Maris had been so proud of her tiny, delicate feet. Surely the Wicked Queen must have known that, if this was the message she chose to send Maris's parents.

But what kind of message was it? Head throbbing, Aislynn moved away from the kitchen door and into the small courtyard. Was it meant to convince them once and for all that their daughter had strayed?